


Poetry Problems

by e_cat



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam is totally okay with that, Gansey has no idea what's going on, I had so much fun, I used google translate, M/M, Noah knows everything, Ronan being an adorable dork, Ronan being completely in love, See if you can find it, Teeniest mention of Bluesy ever, but it's really bad poetry, except how to speak Latin, multiple POVs, so don't kill me, so let's just say that Ronan is a bad poet, there's poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_cat/pseuds/e_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan already knows Latin pretty well, so what does he do while he's sitting in class? Clearly, he writes poetry about Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetry Problems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [klainederful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klainederful/gifts).



> A million and one thanks to [klainderful](http://archiveofourown.org/users/klainederful/pseuds/klainederful) for being so wonderfully supportive, and for working with me to come up with pretty much all of the ideas that make up this story!
> 
> I will also take this opportunity to mention that I, in no way, speak Latin. Thus, I have used Google Translate, and I'm really sorry if it's wrong. But thank you to [QuixoticOwl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QuixoticOwl/pseuds/QuixoticOwl) and Amy for correcting it in the comments. 
> 
> Latin is also the reason that the poetry doesn't rhyme. So, it's totally free verse - but would Ronan really bother with iambic pentameter anyways? The fact that the poetry is awful is entirely my own fault...
> 
> Anything that isn't translated in the story will be explained in the end notes.
> 
> These characters belong to Maggie Stiefvater.

Ronan could not possibly be taking notes, mused Gansey. Ronan never took notes. He drew ravens, and thorns, and, occasionally, flowers losing battles to ravens and thorns, but Ronan Lynch categorically did not take notes.

And yet, there he sat, next to Gansey, studiously writing actual words in his Latin notebook. It was almost as if he was trying to learn.

Gansey couldn’t quite believe it. He squinted at Ronan’s notebook, trying to see what Ronan was writing. The border of the page had been adorned with vines, but the middle was clear save for the sharp lines of text that Ronan was meticulously etching into the paper. Gansey caught a glimpse of lines ending in _manibus_ and _magus_ and _semper_ before the notebook suddenly snapped closed.

Gansey looked up to find Ronan glaring at him. “Get your own fucking notes, Dick,” he growled. Gansey raised an eyebrow, but Ronan simply stuffed his notebook into his bag and settled his contemptuous gaze on the front of the room.

Gansey turned to Adam for help, but the other boy was carefully keeping his attention on the teacher, not wanting to get in the middle of this. Gansey sighed and attempted to catch up his notes to the lecture.

He probably wouldn’t have thought about it again – completely dismissed and forgotten the typical mystery of Ronan Lynch – if not for the events that transpired later that night. Well, early the next morning, technically. 2:04 the next morning, to be precise. Gansey knew this, because it was the first conscious thought he had upon waking.

This knowledge in hand, Gansey laid back on his pillow impatiently. He could feel his head slowly flooding with ideas that would need to be written down – and likely thought out – before he would be able to sleep again. Sometimes, even then, the ideas wouldn’t drain from his thoughts. Sometimes, he was too tired to even try.

Gansey decided that he would give himself a minute to acclimate to being awake before setting to work on the miniature Nino’s. He thought that he had seen one of the walls drooping earlier and, while that wouldn’t necessarily be contrary to the state of the actual Nino’s, Gansey thought it best that he pay special attention to the place he had met Blue Sargent. Not that he would ever phrase it that way to her. Or bring up their first meeting in general, really. He was beginning to learn that there were certain things he just couldn’t say.

Unexpectedly, Gansey heard a noise, something like a suppressed giggle, followed by the unmistakable rustling of pages. Frowning, Gansey sat up and squinted into the darkness of Monmouth. He shoved his glasses onto his face, and now only had to battle the mediocre lighting to make out the form sitting on the floor. “Noah?”

Noah made a little squeaking sound. He pressed a finger to his pale lips, and Gansey held back a shudder at the sight; Noah really was more ghostly at night. “You have to be quiet,” he warned.

“But what are you doing?” Gansey asked in a whisper, getting off the bed and heading over to Noah. As he got closer, he could see his Latin book resting in a sliver of moonlight. And was that Ronan’s notebook?

Noah shook his head quickly. “I don’t tell other people’s secrets,” he said enigmatically.

Gansey frowned. “What secrets?”

Noah shook his head again. “I –”

“Noah!” Ronan’s shout reached them even before his door crashed open. “You nosy fucking –” He paused when he caught sight of Gansey and his bewildered expression. He scowled and told Noah in a very dangerous voice, “Give it back right now, or I will dig up your bones, have you cremated, and scatter your ashes as far from the ley line as possible.”

Noah squeaked and disappeared, his lack of courage leaving him without the will to remain visible. “Coward,” Ronan scoffed. Gansey raised his eyebrows, but Ronan wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Sighing, Gansey bent over to retrieve Ronan’s notebook for him, as Ronan was still halfway across the room. Before his fingers could brush the page, however, he was suddenly knocked to the side, and found himself with a large weight on his chest.

“Ronan,” Gansey groaned. “Do you mind telling me why exactly you are on top of me?”

Ronan didn’t answer, but he pushed himself off of Gansey and scooped up his notebook, clutching it protectively to his chest. He glanced back at Gansey. “Don’t touch my stuff,” he muttered before heading back to his room. It was dark, so it was hard to tell, but was Ronan possibly… blushing?

Gansey flinched at the bang of Ronan’s door slamming, and slowly shook his head at himself. He must have bumped his head when he hit the ground; Ronan Lynch blushing was even more improbable than him taking notes.

 

 

“Goddamn nosy fucking ghost,” Ronan muttered to himself, retrieving his notebook from the floor for the third time in as many hours. He was going to have to ask Blue for some psychic magic voodoo to keep Noah around so that he could be thrown out the window; the wimp slipped out of existence every time Ronan caught him.

Ronan hesitated for a moment before lifting Gansey’s Latin book from the floor as well – it might make Gansey suspicious, especially after last night. He didn’t quite understand the logic that made Noah think that taking Ronan’s notebook was an acceptable line to cross, but that borrowing his textbook was going too far. “Fucking _crazy_ goddamn nosy fucking ghost,” he amended under his breath.

Approaching Gansey’s desk, Ronan considered placing the Latin book on top, but ultimately decided that that would be too much like kindness, and slid it between the desk and the wall. Noah would have a hell of time getting it now. _That_ would show him. “Fuck you, Noah,” Ronan said loudly, just in case he was listening.

“Excuse me?”

Ronan spun to find Adam standing in the doorway, looking slightly amused. He fought to keep his expression sharply neutral in spite of his pounding heart. “Parrish,” he greeted coolly. “Don’t you have a job?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I do,” he agreed. “My shift just ended. Gansey said to meet here at five for Nino’s. Or did you forget?”

Ronan gave him a nasty smirk. “That’s tomorrow, shit-brain. Gansey’s at the library.”

Adam considered this and eventually shrugged. “Well,” he said, “since I’m here anyways…” He dropped his bag on the floor and sunk into the couch. The part of Ronan that didn’t understand common sense wondered if Adam had known that Gansey wouldn’t be here all along and had come to see him. Ronan promptly built a mental staircase and shoved this thought down it.

Ronan shuffled towards his room and flung the notebook onto his bed, closing the door behind it. He leaned casually against a speeding ticket from eight months ago – 83 in a 45, according to the officer who’d issued it; Ronan was pretty sure he’d been going faster than that. “Is the heat off in your crap palace?” he asked. “Try Starbucks; I hear they have free Wi-Fi.”

Adam rolled his eyes, mainly because he had nothing to use Wi-Fi _on._ “I can go,” he said, locking his eyes with Ronan’s like a threat.

Shrugging, Ronan muttered, “Fuck if I care.”

“I didn’t know I’d be bothering you,” Adam continued, looking down in a way that let Ronan know that he was actually doubting whether he was welcome here. “I’ll go, if you want.”  
Ronan grimaced, moving off the door. “I’m getting a beer. You want one?” This was somewhere between an antagonism and an apology; Ronan knew that Adam didn’t like to drink.

Adam frowned at his lap and shook his head. “I’m good.” His voice was quiet, and Ronan wondered if something had happened – if maybe his father had contacted him again, or if one of his hick coworkers had something cruel earlier. Whatever it was, Ronan was sorry to have made him think of it.

Ronan ambled into the kitchen-bathroom-laundry room, trying not to run through all the possible scenarios of what might have upset Adam. He didn’t even bother trying not to think of all the possible ways to make him feel better about it – that would have been futile.

He opened the fridge and stared at the two bottles of beer on the bottom shelf, left over from the last six pack he’d bought over a week and a half ago. There was a time when he would have had to buy more the day after, but – God help him – he was trying to be more responsible with his drinking habits.

Ronan hovered his fingers just over the neck of one of the bottles, contemplating. He hated to make Adam uncomfortable, and he knew that watching Ronan drink would make him uncomfortable. The interesting thing was that Ronan didn’t even feel like having a beer at all. He glared at the fridge, hating the thought that he might be learning to be an adult, or something equally stupid.

Sighing heavily, he grabbed two bottles of Coke instead. They were glass bottles, which Gansey said made the soda taste better – but not in front of Adam or Blue. Ronan considered getting one of the plastic bottles next time he was at the store – the ones that had people’s names on them. He thought that might be a little too obvious. He considered dreaming it instead, but, somehow, that seemed worse.

“Parrish, I got you a Coke because Gansey keeps buying too many,” Ronan announced as he returned to the main room. “If you don’t drink it, I’m going to pour it into his mint plant, so –” He broke off as he came face-to-face with the single most horrifying sight he had ever seen: Noah was sitting on the couch beside Adam, in possession of Ronan’s notebook, a Latin text book, and a mischievous grin. _Fucking Noah._

A page flapped in the breeze, and the coke bottles clinked onto the floor. It took Ronan a minute to realize that he’d dropped them. Too stunned to say anything else, he demanded, “How the fuck did you get Gansey’s book out from behind the desk?”

Noah shrunk back a little at Ronan’s tone, but he didn’t fade this time. Of _course_ he would stick around now. “I borrowed Adam’s,” he said bravely.

Ronan’s gaze whipped to Adam, who was decidedly not looking at him. “Did you –?” But he didn’t dare finish the question. He looked at Noah again, fear boiling over into anger. “You goddamn –”

“No, Ronan,” Noah said hurriedly, eyes wide. “It’s not – You don’t have to worry! They’re just so sweet!” Ronan opened his mouth to protest that, but Noah stopped him. “No, listen!”

And then Noah did the worst thing he could have possibly done: he began reading aloud from Ronan’s Latin notebook. The notebook that Ronan used to write down his thoughts about Adam. The notebook that Ronan used to write fucking _poetry_ about Adam. Fucking awful poetry, but poetry nonetheless.

And Noah was currently reading a poem that Ronan had just written yesterday. A poem that referenced Adam’s hands on his body. In the context of it never happening, but it still wasn’t something he wanted Adam to hear. So, the recitation went like this:

Noah proclaimed dramatically: “‘De capite meo non possum trahere te.’”

Ronan interrupted angrily: “Noah!” He stormed towards Noah, but the ghost boy danced away.

Adam mumbled “‘I can’t get you out of my head’” under his breath, and Ronan fought the capillaries in his face.

Noah continued from atop the pool table, one palm splayed dramatically across his chest. “‘Vos estis in anima mea, / In somnorum meo, semper.’”

“Noah,” Ronan repeated in a growl, still chasing him. That ghost was fucking fast. “I’m going to fucking resurrect you so I can kill you myself.”

Adam translated the two lines, almost to himself: “‘You are in my soul, / In my dreams, always.’”

Noah grinned delightedly, as if it were a game. Ronan wanted to strangle him. Unaware of this desire, Noah cheerfully recited, “‘Sed etiam in somnorum meo, / Vos nolunt me.’”

Adam’s features softened as he turned his face towards Ronan. “‘But even in my dreams / You don’t want me,’” he translated quietly. “Ronan…”

Ronan’s face twisted into a look of contempt. “What? You want to fucking pity me, Parrish?” he spat. “That’s some goddamn hypocritical shit. Fuck you, Parrish! Fuck both of you!”

And, with that, Ronan stomped into his room. He couldn’t bear to watch Adam react to the next stanza. He planned to stay in his room until Adam left. Then he would capture Noah and throw him from the highest window he could find.

After that, he planned to drop out of Aglionby – surely Declan would understand – and hide at the Barns until he died. He wouldn’t even have to go grocery shopping; all he needed to do was dream food for himself. Or, better yet, he could dream a fridge that filled itself. It was the perfect plan.

There was a knock at the door. “Ronan? Come on.” Adam. “Noah was just joking.” Ronan yanked a shoe off and threw it at the door.

It was silent for a minute, and then Adam said, “Ronan, would you please just come out here and talk to me?” Ronan threw his other shoe. And his Latin textbook for good measure. Latin had gotten him into this mess, after all.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” Adam announced. Ronan glared at the door. He was pretty sure he could wait it out.

 

 

“Hey, Adam,” Noah asked sweetly. Adam looked up from his paper to where Noah was peering at him with hopeful eyes. “What does ‘pulverulenta’ mean?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I don’t think Ronan would like you to read that,” he said quietly.

Noah pouted. “Please, Adam. Please?”

Adam sighed. “It means ‘dusty,’ okay?”

“Uh huh,” Noah said, nodding. “Hey, Adam. What does ‘pulchra’ mean?”

Adam gave him a hard look. “Okay, I _know_ that one’s in the textbook.”

Noah showed him his puppy-dog eyes. “But _Adam_ ,” he whined, “why can’t you just tell me?” His lower lip jutted out and he slowly blinked his wide eyes.

Adam groaned and leaned back on the couch, rubbing a fist into his forehead. “It means ‘beautiful,’” he translated reluctantly. Noah was still staring at him, eyes wide and pleading. Adam sighed. “What?”

“Just… don’t you want to know what the poem is?” he asked – begged.

Adam closed his eyes to gather his patience. “No,” he said. “I don’t. It’s an invasion of Ronan’s privacy.”

“But… it’s so cute,” Noah complained. “And you already knew how he felt.”

Adam glanced down at the paper in front of him and grimaced. He crumpled the page into a ball and threw it at the trash can. “I just don’t think it’s fair to read them if he doesn’t want me to. Now, leave me alone, okay? I’m trying to do something.”

Noah abandoned the notebook on the floor and came over to Adam. “What are you doing?” he asked, already peering at the papers in his lap. Luckily, Adam had just thrown away everything he had written. Unfortunately, Noah seemed to realize this, because changed tactics and plucked the ball of paper from the trash, in spite of Adam’s weak sounds of protest.

Noah smoothed out the paper on Gansey’s desk and frowned at it. “Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “It’s in Latin.” He looked at Adam hopefully, but Adam steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. Noah looked back at the paper, and said, “Hey, Adam, what does ‘Ego te amo’ mean?”

Adam laughed to combat his embarrassment. “Did you really think that would work?” he asked skeptically, and then added, “I’m not telling you.”

Noah drifted soundlessly across the room to kneel in front of Adam again, his wide, hopeful eyes staring directly into Adam’s soul. He shoved his face right in front of Adam’s, and clutched at Adam’s hands. “Please?” he begged. “Please, please, please? I’m already dead, Adam! Don’t make me suffer any more!”

Adam carefully removed Noah’s hands and said, as kindly as he could, “No.”

Noah stared at him for a moment, a barely-contained look of glee creeping its way onto his face. “That means it’s really good!” he exclaimed. “Come on, Adam! Please? Who am I going to tell?”

Adam looked at him. “Blue,” he pointed out. “Gansey. Ronan.”

“Aren’t you going to tell Ronan anyways?” Noah protested. He was still directly in front of Adam’s face.

Adam narrowed his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that your breath smells like a tombstone?”

Noah’s expression was unamused, but he moved back. “If you want to take it there, your breath smells like mint.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Expecting to be kissing someone? Maybe someone who shaves his head and has a very large tattoo on his back?” He nudged Adam’s knee, and Adam felt his face burning. “I _know_ you didn’t take one of Gansey’s mint leaves for no reason… Wait!” Noah looked at the soda bottles that Ronan had abandoned on the floor. “Do you think Ronan was serious about the soda? Do you think the mint would taste like Coke, then? Do you think that would be good?”

Adam laughed. “I think you’d kill Gansey’s mint plant,” he said, relieved to have a change of subject.

Noah gave him a questioning look. “Is Coke poisonous to mint plants?”

Adam shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said. “But overwatering is.”

Noah huffed in disappointment. Then he seemed to remember what had started this conversation. “Wait – so, what were you writing to Ronan?”

Adam sighed. “I just want him to talk to me,” he said, aware that that wasn’t really an answer. Noah waited patiently, his curious eyes seeming to unlock a door Adam didn’t realize he’d built inside of his mind. “I just… don’t want him to think that… that I don’t like him, too,” he finished in a low voice.

Noah nodded. “So, you were trying to write him a note. In Latin. To tell him that you want to kiss him.”

Adam’s face heated in a rush. “I never said that,” he protested weakly.

Noah rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Adam.” He got to his feet and went back to the Latin dictionary, bringing Adam’s failed attempt at a note with him.

Adam went back to staring at the blank paper in front of him. He couldn’t seem to think of a good way to phrase something he wasn’t going to say to Ronan’s face, either in Latin or English. If only he could get Ronan to come out of his room…

Adam looked down at the paper thoughtfully and wrote two words right in the middle of the page. _Aperi ianuam._ Then he folded it in half and marched over to Ronan’s door before he could change his mind. He knocked and slid the paper underneath.

Noah stood, staring at him in surprise. “What did you write?” he asked in a loud whisper.

Adam mouthed, “Wait,” and went back to staring at the door. In his head, he counted: _3, 2, 1…_ Nothing. Adam continued staring, not entirely comprehending. _That was stupid,_ he thought. _Of course that didn’t work. I’m such an idiot._

And then the door opened, and there was Ronan, looking angry and still a little embarrassed. “‘Open the door?’” he demanded, crumpling Adam’s note in his fist. “Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

Still euphoric over the fact that Ronan had listened, Adam smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Ronan stared him in disbelief. He crossed his arms, but, to Adam’s relief, he didn’t immediately retreat back into his room. “What do you fucking want?”

Adam swallowed anxiously. “I… I just thought it would be better to say this in person.”

Ronan glared daggers. “What? That you don’t fucking want me in your goddamn life anymore? You’re the one who made me open the fucking door.”

Adam licked his lips. “No, I – I thought it was really… sweet. You writing poetry about me.” He kept his gaze decidedly away from Ronan.

Ronan snorted. “I don’t want your pity,” he said.

“That’s my line,” Adam said, looking up from the floor. He presented a small smile as a peace offering. “And it’s not pity.”

Ronan’s fingers tightened their curl around his own upper arm. “And that’s Gansey’s line,” he said. He was _almost_ smirking.

Adam took a step forward. Ronan took a step back. “Listen,” Adam said, feeling the desperation try to sneak into his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I – I –”

Ronan frowned. Scowled. Glared. With him, it was all the same. “What?”

Adam sighed. “Look, I don’t… That is, I kind of… It’s not just…” He shook his head at himself and stepped into Ronan’s space, grabbing him by the back of the head and pulling him into a kiss before Ronan could react to his proximity.

It took a minute, but he could feel Ronan soften beneath his grip. His arms slowly uncrossed, and eventually came around to grip Adam’s back. Adam’s hand on the back of Ronan’s head was there less to _hold him in place_ and more just to _hold him._

After another minute or so, they were pulled apart by the sound of slow clapping. They turned to see Noah looking extremely pleased with himself. He looked right at Adam with a wide grin. “I can see how that might be difficult to get on paper.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, translations:
> 
>  _manibus_ , as many of us probably realize, refers to _hands._  
>  _magus_ means _magician._  
>  _semper_ means _always_.  
>  _Ego te amo_ means _I like you_. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, if anyone is curious about the terrible poetry referenced in the story, the poem Noah reads aloud, in its entirety (in English) is as follows:
> 
> I can’t get you out of my head.  
> You are in my soul,  
> In my dreams, always.  
> But even in my dreams  
> You don’t want me.
> 
> You would never put your hands,  
> The hands of a magician,  
> On a body so damaged as mine.  
> You don’t want me.  
> You know what I am.
> 
>  
> 
> (I actually created other poems while I was working on this (Noah references a couple words from one), but they're just as bad, if not worse.)


End file.
